


broken record

by bbyfruit



Series: a color that doesn't exist [3]
Category: SKAM (TV)
Genre: Death, Future Fic, M/M, Mental Illness, Mentions of Suicide, Panic Attacks, emo hours bitches, i love even and so does isak, this is part of my series of future shit jsyk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-02
Updated: 2017-11-02
Packaged: 2019-01-28 08:27:36
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,828
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12602460
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bbyfruit/pseuds/bbyfruit
Summary: old memories die hard.





	broken record

**Author's Note:**

> WARNINGS: mentions of suicide, mentions of suicidal thoughts, death, descriptions of panic attacks  
> (good ending tho <3)
> 
> this is entirely born out of me trying to deal with some shit thats going on and obviously i can only do that thru fictional characters so take some Peak Projection

It’s not going well. Even keeps the side of his cheek trapped between his teeth until he draws blood, keeps his eyes cast down because if he looks up he’ll cry, keeps trying to remember every shot of  _ Romeo + Juliet  _ to keep his mind from yelling at him.

“I can’t,” Even finds himself whispering, the words halfway mangled on their way from his gut to his lips and his nails are digging into Isak’s arm, through the black fabric of his suit and he really needs to get something nicer, not this cheap thing he’s wearing because Even can  _ feel  _ the child labor in the thread and now Isak’s looking at him with concern in his eyes.

“Babe?” he asks gently, brushing his hand over Even’s. Even doesn’t deserve him. He doesn’t deserve this man and this man doesn’t deserve all the shit that Even’s put him through.

Even’s gasping now, struggling against his tie and Isak’s leading him out the back door of the church and guiding him, hands on shoulders and he pushes Even back into the wall and holds him there.

“Look at me. Even. Even, look at me,” he says, and Even can hear him but  _ can’t _ , because it’s been a long fucking time since this happened and he thought it would be okay. “Senses, yeah?” Isak’s saying. Even just closes his eyes. He doesn’t want to be here, standing outside this church, in this situation, in this  _ life _ , which — fuck. No. No. He needs to stop thinking like that. He needs to stop his brain, except the only way to do  _ that  _ is to —

“Fuck!”

Even slides down the wall and Isak’s right there with him. 

“Senses,” Isak reminds him. “What can you feel, baby? Just three things.”

And Even tries, because he always tries for Isak. “You,” he chokes out around the vomit in his throat. 

“What about me?”

“Your… hands. On my shoulders,” Even answers. It’s an effort and he still can’t open his eyes but he feels Isak nod, running his hand strongly over Even’s shoulder, trying to bring him back.

“Two more, baby. Two more,” Isak prompts gently.

“The sidewalk. Under me.” Even’s grinding his teeth and he wants to stop. “Clothes. It’s tight around my neck. The tie,” he finishes, reaching his hands up to loosen it but Isak’s already there, soothing and deliberate in his motions.

Isak speaks in a whisper. “Think you can open your eyes? One thing you see.”

Even opens his eyes gradually because he’s afraid of what might be there, but it’s Isak and he breathes, long and wobbly and his whole body is shaking.

“What do you see?” Isak asks, a soft, sad smile on his lips as he looks at Even.

“You,” Even says again, except this time he’s not choking and he’s finding his breath, reaching out one hand and dusting his fingertips along Isak’s cheekbone. His angles have gotten harsher with age, but he’s still overwhelmingly  _ Isak _ , and sometimes Even blinks and there’s a seventeen year old kid in front of him, scared and just barely holding himself together, but doing it for Even. This is one of those times.

The magnitude of the situation comes crashing down on Even again and he struggles to his feet, weak after the attack, and Isak gives him space but watches worriedly. 

“I’m so fucking sorry,” Even whispers, feeling desperate and hollow. He reaches a trembling hand into his pocket and pulls out a pack of cigarettes because even though Isak hates it when he smokes, he needs something to get through this.

Isak doesn’t say anything. He just offers his lighter and lets Even cup his hands around the cigarette before he lights it, and then it’s Even taking a long drag and angling his face to the sun.

“You don’t have to apologise,” Isak says quietly. He’s standing in a shadow with his arms crossed over his chest and Even is still so fucking in love with him that it hurts sometimes. He hurts every time he hurts Isak.

“I do,” Even answers, still sick to his stomach and frustrated with his entire existence. He flicks his wrist and watches ash fall to the ground. “Because — fuck, Isak. I shouldn’t be affected like this. Like, I barely fucking know him. We did a few projects together and that’s all, but here I am having a fucking panic attack outside of his funeral and I don’t even fucking know why.” Even runs a hand through his hair.

Isak steps out to meet him in the sunlight, catching Even’s left hand in his right and tangling them together in Even’s hair. “You do know why.”

“This shouldn’t happen just because some guy kills himself!” Even almost shouts, chest heaving and he hates it, because he never raises his voice around Isak and he’s losing his shit right here with a burning cigarette in one hand and his husband’s fingers in the other. Isak squeezes tightly.

“Listen to me, Even,” he says firmly, but not firm enough to hide the tremble in his voice. “There’s nothing that you  _ should  _ be feeling. Only what you  _ are _ feeling, okay? And honestly, you knew him and as someone who…” Isak trails off and Even can hear the words that are unsaid. As someone who’s attempted suicide. As someone who’s been suicidal. As someone who lives his life balancing medication and therapy. As someone who wakes up his husband at three in the morning because he’s terrified of the thoughts in his mind and the way his hands won’t stop moving.

“Like, it makes sense for you to be reacting like this,” Isak finishes. He tugs at Even’s hand, once, and Even takes a drag. “You’re not crazy.”

Even exhales and watches the smoke trace through the air. He’s not crazy. His mind runs away from him sometimes and suffocates him other times and when his coworker whispers “Did you hear Alec slit his wrists?” on a Monday morning he has a panic attack in the bathroom, but he’s not crazy. There are reasons.

“I’m not crazy,” he finds himself repeating.

Out of the corner of his eye, he catches a little smile on Isak’s face. “Nah,” Isak says. “You’re not crazy. You’re a fucking mess, but you’re not crazy.”

The two of them stand there, holding hands and squinting into the sun. Even smokes. Isak waits.

“Want to go back in?” Isak asks eventually, and Even can’t help the way his whole body tenses at the thought. Isak runs his thumb over the back of Even’s hand. “It’s okay,” he says, still so fucking gently. “We can leave.”

The thought of leaving doesn’t relax Even at all, and he struggles for a second to get his thoughts in order. Something tells him to shove the lit end of the cigarette into his arm and hold it there and he pushes it to the side with all his strength. “I feel like I need to be here,” he says slowly. Isak winces at the word  _ need _ and Even can feel him about to lecture about how Even shouldn’t feel like he  _ needs  _ to do anything. But it’s not true. He needs to this, and he needs to make Isak understand.

“Look,” Even starts. There’s something warm on his cheek and when he brushes at his face with his hand, his knuckles come away wet with tears. “It’s been a long fucking time since I — yeah. And being here, seeing how this is, like, affecting everyone, even people like me who barely knew him, is really important to me. Beyond, like, the fucking selfish reasons too, I want to be here out of respect to his family and to him.”

Isak chews at his bottom lip, a habit he’s picked up in the past few years. Even can always gauge how stressed he is by how torn apart his lips are when they kiss. “Okay, but if it’s not healthy for you to be here, that should come first.”

“But I have to push myself to do unhealthy things,” Even argues. Honestly, he’s not sure he’s right, but he’s saying it anyways. Isak turns to look at him and doesn’t look convinced.

“Ev,” he says, furrowing his brow and there are lines digging deeper into his forehead. Even wants to kiss them away. “You know I trust you.”

Even nods.

“We stand at the back. You hold my hand and squeeze as hard as you need to through the whole thing, like, don’t worry about hurting me. I can take it. And if I think you’re having a panic attack, then I’m pulling you the fuck out of there faster than you can lie and tell me it’s nothing,” Isak threatens, looking straight into Even’s eyes. “Deal?”

“Deal,” Even answers. He stubs out his cigarette on the wall behind them and crushes it with his heel and then offers his hand to Isak to shake. Isak takes it in his own and pulls Even in for a kiss, one hand on the side of Even’s face and it’s grounding.

Isak pulls away and wrinkles his nose in disgust. “You taste like cigarettes,” he complains.

“I’m in love with you,” Even says immediately, like it’s an answer to a question that Isak hasn’t even asked. Isak knows. Isak always knows. 

They follow the plan, leaning into each other against the back wall of the church. Even breathes hard through his nose for a half an hour, gritting his teeth and leaving half-moon imprints in Isak’s palm, and he’s fighting back tears but he made it through and he’s okay. He’s alive and there’s sun on the insides of his wrists and he’s heading home with his husband, the home they’ve built with their daughter, full of everything they love. 

Even’s exhausted — physically, mentally, emotionally, and he gets into bed while Isak takes care of Lili. Isak joins him later, slipping into bed with the lights off and they fall into each other as they so often do, tangled and breathing close together.

“Sometimes I wish I could take out all the parts that hurt you and make them mine,” Isak whispers, tapping his pointer finger over Even’s heart, and  _ that  _ hurts.

He presses a kiss to Isak’s head and says, choked up, “I never want that for you.”

Isak sighs with that special sleepy sound. “I know. And I wouldn’t want you to do that for me, either, but it kills me when you’re hurting. Like, I wish I could do more.”

His arms are tight around Even and Even allows himself to be held because he’s gotten better at that, better at letting Isak choose him, better at letting himself be chosen. He thinks Isak’s falling asleep.

“You do more than enough,” he whispers into Isak’s hair. “You do everything.”

“I love you,” Isak whispers back, his torn lips dusting against Even’s skin.

“I love you.”

They sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> [tumblr](https://lesbovilde.tumblr.com/)


End file.
